Chardonnayed to Rest

by J. C. Eaton

  “Um, that’s awful, but I’m not sure what I can do.”

  “Find the real killer, that’s what! And do it before they hang my handyman.”

  I didn’t bother to tell her hangings weren’t an option in New York State. Instead, I asked her to calm down and tell me everything she knew.

  Surprisingly, she managed to keep her voice steady. “They found incriminating evidence on Roy Wilkes’ clothing that points to Kelsey. A fingerprint match, of all things. According to Cal, it was a really clear thumb print on one of the metal jacket buttons.”

  “But how did they—Oh never mind. You did tell me Kelsey was arrested when he was younger. Funny, but I always thought those records were sealed.”

  “Not to law enforcement, apparently. And knowing Deputy Hickman, he got a court order to release them.”

  “But why? Why suddenly decide to compare a thumb print from the crime scene with those on file for Kelsey Payne? It doesn’t add up.”

  “It does if someone was trying to frame Kelsey. Cal said the sheriff’s office got an anonymous tip.”

  “Oh geez. That really boils it down. What about a lawyer? Does Kelsey have one?”

  “My next call is to Marvin Souza. About time he woke up. Of course, he’ll probably send that Bradley whatshisname over to the jail.”

  It’s Jamison and it’s not the jail. It’s the Public Safety Building.

  “You think?” I tried not to sound too excited. Here I was practically salivating over an opportunity to see Bradley Jamison again while some poor guy got railroaded for murder.

  “If I know Marvin,” Rosalee said, “the last thing he’s about to do is ruin a weekend. Of course he’ll send that kid.”

  “Uh, it probably wouldn’t hurt if I drove down there.” Who the heck am I kidding?

  I was positive they’d never let me see Kelsey, but nothing would stop them from me having a conversation with Gladys Pipp. I knew she worked on Saturdays from nine to noon because she mentioned it to me when I last spoke with her about Roy Wilkes’ bank.

  Rosalee cleared her throat for what seemed like forever. “Cal will still be there. I’d bet money on it. Tell him I’m getting a lawyer. This is the worst possible time of year for something like this.”

  The minute she said “worst time of year,” it was as if someone had turned on a switch.

  “Rosalee, are you going to be all right with the harvest? I mean, if Cal can’t be around?”

  “We’ve got two decent assistants and a lineup of migrant workers. All documented.”

  “Good. Good. Because if you need anything, I’m sure everyone in WOW will pitch in.”

  I would’ve offered my own workers, but I knew how stretched our resources were without an assistant vineyard manager and Federweisser looming.

  “One more thing, Norrie. If you run into my sister while you’re at the jail, tell her we could use some help in our tasting room. She hasn’t bothered to return my calls since she left.”

  “Um, I don’t know why I’d be running into Marilyn. Why would she be there?”

  “Because she’s glued to the hip to that Erlene Spencer. And last I heard, no one’s found the missing husband.”

  “Oh.”

  “You can say that again. Erlene’s been camped out over there, along with Marilyn. I suppose now they’ve arrested Kelsey, those deputies will start on their other cases.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “Idiots. Locking up the wrong man when the real killer’s running loose.”

  “I know Kelsey’s a friend and probably a great handyman, but can you really be sure he’s innocent?”

  “I’m sure. Hell, I’ve been on this earth for well over seventy years and in that time, I’ve learned a thing or two about human nature. Fingerprint or no fingerprint, Kelsey didn’t kill anyone.”

  Granted, I was nowhere close to Rosalee’s age, but I’d learned a thing or two about human nature as well. Number one being, “It doesn’t hurt to sweeten the pot.” The pot in this case being Gladys Pipp. I had to get her to talk. Since alcohol was forbidden in the public safety building, I had to rely on the next best thing—Francine’s jams and jellies.

  My sister had made an entire shelf-full of strawberry jam at the start of the season, and I knew Gladys would be a sucker for the stuff. I pulled out two jars, wrapped some pretty ribbon around them, and put them in a small bag.

  Since it was so early in the day, I sent Theo and Don an e-mail about Kelsey’s arrest, promising to call them later. I also promised to begin my archival search when I got back from the public safety building. What I failed to mention was Bradley Jamison and how I prayed my timing would work and that I’d run into him when I got there.

  I selected a really cool turquoise tunic to go over my jeans and spent more than the usual two minutes on my hair. By twenty to nine, I was in my car and on my way to the village of Penn Yan. It was too early for the tourists, but our vineyard crew was on the job. The unmistakable vibrating sound of the harvester, as its rods shook the grapes from the vines, could be heard above my car’s engine. It was a short drive and I got there in no time.

  “Hi!” I said to the forty-something receptionist at the glass-enclosed window. “You must be Frieda. I need to speak with Gladys for a moment.”

  “We’re not supposed to send anyone back there without clearance. Wait a second. How did you know my name? I didn’t put my ID tag on yet. Did Gladys tell you anything about me? What did she say?”

  “Uh, nothing. Just that she was working up here while you were at lunch one day last week.”

  The woman looked relieved. “Okay. What did you say your name is?”

  “Norrie. Norrie Ellington from Two Witches Winery.” I held out my license and she took a quick look.

  “Hold on a second while I phone her.”

  As Frieda placed the call, I tried to sneak a glance at her upside down sign-in sheet to see if Bradley Jamison was anywhere in the building. No luck. I couldn’t decipher a word.

  “Gladys says it’s all right for you to go back there. I’ll sign you in.” Then Frieda waved her hand toward her face and ushered me closer to the window. “She said to tell you Deputy Hickman is out on a call but she expects him back within the next thirty minutes. You need to make it quick.”

  I nodded and walked past her window, through the door that led to an endless lineup of cubicles and small offices. Gladys’ workstation was adjacent to Deputy Hickman’s office. No wonder she was concerned about my presence in the building.

  “These are for you,” I said handing her Francine’s jellies.

  “Strawberry! My favorite! Did you make them?”

  “No. My sister’s the one with the culinary touch. Enjoy. Listen, I don’t have much time. I was hoping you could fill me in on Kelsey Payne’s status.”

  Gladys made a tsk-tsk sound and leaned toward me. “Poor guy’s in lockup on the other side of the building. I wasn’t here when they brought him in, but I heard he was a wreck. Insisting they made a mistake.”

  “Rosalee Marbleton thinks they did. That’s why I’m here. What can you tell me about the arrest?”

  Since it was a Saturday, no one else was in the office except her. Still, she looked around the place at least twice. “I may have read the report when they were processing him. Mr. Payne’s fingerprints were sent to our lab in Buffalo. It was a nine point match. Enough to book him, according to our jurisdiction.”

  “His prints could’ve been planted there, for all we know.”

  Gladys bobbed her head. “That’s why we’ve got lawyers.”

  As soon as she said the word “lawyers,” heat rose in my cheeks. I hoped she mistook it for concern over Kelsey.

  “Yeah, uh, speaking of lawyers, did Kelsey’s arrive?”

  “Not yet. Unless he or she signed in with Frieda while you and I were
talking. The only person who’s been able to see Kelsey this morning is his brother, Cal Payne.”

  She paused for a minute to check the screen on her computer. “According to what it says here on the register list from the lockup, Cal signed out at a little past seven. I didn’t get in until eight thirty.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could have a word with Kelsey.”

  “Sorry, hon. Not unless you’re family or legal counsel.”

  At that precise instant, something on screen caught her eye. “Looks like the lawyer just signed in. Maybe you can have a chat with him. He’s out front getting a clearance card from Frieda.”

  Please do not let him be Marvin Souza. Please, please. Not Marvin Souza.

  I thanked her and darted past the cubicles like a jackrabbit. My behavior was shameless. An innocent man, according to Rosalee, was in lockup and here I was hoping to have what? A rendezvous with his attorney? Francine would be appalled.

  I caught Bradley Jamison’s profile as I opened the door into the front reception area. Yes! The gods are listening and Marvin Souza is probably still sleeping.

  Bradley turned and gave me a perplexed look. “Norrie, right? From one of the wineries.”

  “Two Witches. Across the road from Rosalee.”

  Bradley took a few steps toward me. “What brings you here so early on a Saturday?”

  “Same thing that brought you. Rosalee. Unfortunately, since I’m not a relative and I’m not Kelsey’s attorney, I can’t speak with him.”

  “Hold on a second, I think I can fix that.”

  Bradley walked back to the window and told Frieda I was part of Kelsey’s legal counsel. Not in so many words, but whatever he said worked because she issued me a clearance card for the lockup.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked as the two of us exited the front of the building.

  “Last thing I need is for your friend, Rosalee, to get my boss, Marvin, all riled up. Besides, from what I’ve heard, you’re quite the sleuth.”

  “Grossly exaggerated, but if it gets me any closer to finding out what really happened and who really killed Roy Wilkes, I’ll gladly take the honors. So now what?”

  “Now we walk around the building to the back entrance where the county lockup is.”

  I followed Bradley and tried to stay focused. If I thought he was good looking the first time I saw him, he was even more spectacular today. With his short-sleeved ocean blue shirt and khakis, he looked as if he’d stepped out of a magazine. I could also detect a faint scent of citrus and clove, which made him even more appealing.

  We walked into the lockup area, showed our identification, and held still while the deputy on duty used a metal detector to make sure we weren’t about to bust anyone loose.

  “I need to speak with my client, Kelsey Payne,” Bradley said. “Joining me is Miss Ellington, who’s also part of his defense team.”

  The deputy, who bore a strange resemblance to Beaver Cleaver, appeared to have little interest in us. He was more concerned about following protocol. “You’ll need to empty your pockets and place your belongings in that tray. When you’re done, everything will be returned to you. You are allowed to use a small recording device if you’ve brought one.”

  Bradley and I did as we were told. Next, we were ushered into a room that wasn’t much bigger than a Porta Potty. There was one small metal rectangular table and four metal chairs that practically screamed “Uncomfortable as hell.”

  “Take a seat,” the deputy said. “I’ll have Mr. Payne brought in.”

  The table was small and my leg practically touched Bradley’s. I crossed it over my ankle so there’d be no chance of contact. I was petrified he’d hear how fast my heart was beating.

  “You look nervous,” he said. “First time in an interrogation room?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Don’t feel bad. This is only my third time. Although, the first time probably doesn’t count since I was only an intern.”

  “How long have you been working for Marvin Souza?”

  “Not long. A little over a year. I completed my internship with Gabaldi, Fennick, and Wilson in Syracuse. When I got the offer to work with Marvin Souza in Geneva, I snapped it up. He’s got one heck of a reputation.”

  “So you’re from around these parts?”

  “Baldwinsville. North of Syracuse. And you?”

  “Born and raised in Penn Yan. Left for Manhattan when I graduated from college. Screenwriting to stay afloat. Guilted into returning for a year. Very complicated. Costa Rican bugs.”

  Bradley opened his mouth to say something but, in that instant, the deputy escorted Kelsey Payne into the room and directed him to sit opposite Bradley and me.

  “You have thirty minutes, according to our regulations,” the deputy said to us. “I’ll be right outside that door if you need me. There’s a buzzer on the wall.”

  Clearly, Kelsey Payne wasn’t about to pose any threat. His hands were tied with one of those plastic things that always reminded me of garbage ties. At least his feet weren’t bound together.

  All I could think of was one of those classic lines from every cop movie I’d ever seen—“Are they treating you all right in here?” Fortunately, for everyone concerned, I didn’t ask it.

  Bradley introduced us and paused long enough for Kelsey to utter four words—“I didn’t kill anyone.”

  Chapter 18

  “Do you mind if our conversation is recorded?” Bradley asked as he pulled out a small device from his pocket.

  Kelsey shook his head. “Fine.”

  Up close I could see the resemblance to his brother. Both of them had red hair, but not screaming red. More like a subdued version. And both of them were well-built but not exceedingly muscular. Kelsey was definitely younger and thinner. Probably in his thirties. When I met Cal for the first time at Rosalee’s, he had a five-o’clock shadow. Looking at Kelsey’s face, his was more like a five-day shadow.

  Bradley slid the recorder closer to Kelsey. “Suppose you tell us what happened and why your fingerprints were found on the victim’s clothing. How were you acquainted?”

  “We weren’t.”

  “Then how do you explain—”

  “How my prints got on his jacket? It’s a long story.”

  Bradley glanced at the analog clock that was on the wall behind Kelsey. “We’ve got time.”

  I didn’t say a word, but I opened my eyes really wide to indicate I was interested in hearing what the guy had to say.

  Kelsey leaned forward and stretched his bound arms across the table. “Mrs. Marbleton’s been having a problem with rodents in her pumping station. Mice mostly, but a rat or two wouldn’t surprise me. Anyway, she asked me to see what I could do to get rid of them. Damn things chew on the wiring in there and can do a hell of a lot of damage.”

  Bradley gave a nod. “Go on.”

  “That morning I had another job down the lake, and I couldn’t be late. Since I set traps for those vermin the night before, I decided to check them before I left for my other job. I pulled my car way off the road and hoped it wouldn’t get sideswiped. Then I took a shortcut through the woods to the pumping station. Used my penlight so I could see where I was going.”

  “Then what?” Bradley asked.

  “I went inside to check the traps. Two of them were sprung, but no mice. I reset them. Had a jar of peanut butter in the building and used my fingers to spread the stuff. Wiped it off with a bandana I had in my pocket. The other traps were okay as is. I left the building and started back to the woods when I heard a commotion on the other side. The lake side. In the semidarkness I saw three people.”

  “Three?” I all but screeched.

  “Yeah, three. It looked like a lot of pushing and shoving. Didn’t know what the hell to think. I snuck around but hugged the building so no one would see
me. Like I said, it was kind of dark. Next thing I knew, one of them was on the ground not moving and the other two were still fighting. I thought maybe they’d punched the guy who was on the ground.”

  Then Kelsey blew air out of his mouth. “One of the people took off running up the lakefront with the other guy on his tail. Looked like they skirted around a bit by the winery building, but not for long. I saw them moving farther up the lake. When I was sure they were a good distance away, I walked over to the person on the ground. I figured he was knocked out. Never heard a gunshot or anything. Holy geez! I bent down to shake the guy and my hand was on his chest. That’s probably how my fingerprint got on one of his metal buttons. All that grease from the peanut butter made it real easy for a print.”

  At that moment, the deputy opened the door. “You have ten minutes left.”

  When he left, Kelsey went on with his description. “So, like I said, ‘Holy geez.’ The guy was dead. I felt something on my hand and it was blood. I didn’t bother to stick around. I made a beeline for the woods and my car. Went straight to my other job and never breathed a word of it.”

  “But why?” Bradley asked, his voice slightly raised. “Why didn’t you phone for help?”

  “Can’t help a dead man.”

  I bit my lower lip and looked Kelsey in the eyes. It was uncomfortable for me, and I imagined he felt the same. “You’re not telling us something.”

  I held my gaze and waited. Then I asked again. “What was the real reason you didn’t call nine-one-one?”

  “Because I swore one of the guys running up the lakefront was my brother.”

  Bradley and I both gasped at once. The word “shortly” immediately sprung to mind, as in the verbal or maybe not-so-verbal altercation Cal had with Roy “shortly” before Roy was found dead.

  “Cal?” My voice wavered. “You thought it was Cal?”